


True Colours

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Artist Dean, Bisexual Dean, Childhood Friends, College Student Castiel, Coming Out, Festivals, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Gay Panic, Humor, Implied/Referenced Sex, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Openly Bisexual Dean, Pride Festival, Religious Castiel, Shirtless Castiel, Shirtless Dean, Unresolved Sexual Tension, body painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:38:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5061400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working underneath cars, Dean’s used to all kinds of physical exertion, but this was a whole new level of physical. Dean figured he’d be between someone’s crotch after he came out, but not this soon—and certainly not his best friend’s. Focus on painting, he told himself, think of Cas as your canvas.</p><p>Yeah, that didn’t help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Colours

**Author's Note:**

> This is the byproduct of laying neck to another, much longer Destiel fic.

Dean never thought he’d be ready, between the running diatribe he’d gotten from his dickless—and, by the same token, _chickless_ —father to the hand-me-down woebegone face from his little brother who shouldn’t have mustered the audacity to go against John’s unavailing holier-than-thou attitude and all his now former friends who excluded him from their reindeer games, but here he was, standing in front of his bathroom mirror, painting his body in celebration of the rainbow.

 

The Pride Festival in Kansas was, surprisingly, one of the biggest headliners of the year for a state that took the analogy paint the town red to another level. Dean remembered overlooking his balcony, witnessing thousands upon thousands of neon blurs blocking the streets like soldiers at attention, which honesty wasn’t too far off. Any group of people that continually fight and die to protect their constitutional rights are worthy of metals.

 

Dean was applying his tiger makeup (Don’t judge, Survivor was a classic) when his phone vibrated. He lowered his boldly dubbed guyliner and put the call on speaker.

 

“What’s up, man? Excited for today?”

 

There was a hesitant pause. “ _Yeah, ‘bout that…”_

“Oh fuck, Benny,” Dean groveled, setting the pencil down to grasp the phone more securely. “You sound like you’re about to break up with me. What happened?”

 

“ _Andrea went ‘nta early labor. Her water broke in the middle of th’ fifth pass and I—”_

“I know how the female anatomy works, Benny. Wait—you were watching the _game_?”

 

“ _It was the Ragin’ Cajuns against the Red Wolves! Who in their right mind would miss that?”_

“Uh, me,” Dean replied, initially unamused, then: “Unless I’m watching tight end.”

 

“ _From the mouth of bis.”_

“Touché.”

 

“ _I really am sorry, brotha. I know how hard this was for you.”_

Dean shifted his weight until he was using the bathroom counter as his clutch. He knew Benny wasn’t flaking out on him the way his other friends had subsequent to coming out. It was one thing coming to terms with who you are and something else entirely when it was bringing new life into the world.

 

“Benny, your only priority right now is being a father,” he said. “Go hold your child before I marry that Greek goddess of yours.”

 

“ _I’m goin’, I’m goin’! Godspeed, young Jedi.”_

Dean hung up, facing his mirror with a heavy sigh. He had one of two options: He could hit up Charlie and Gilda—who, despite being an openly gay couple, are still in the honeymoon phase and therefore were probably ditching Pride for some equally as festive roleplaying—or he could call Cas, his best friend since the third grade who was probably spending his weekend studying or some lame shit.

 

“ _Hello?”_

“Empire Records, this is Mark.”

 

“ _Oh, hey Dean.”_

“Jesus, don’t break something.”

 

“ _Sorry,”_ he sighed. _“It’s actually good to hear someone other than an automated voice.”_

“I told you, should’ve gone to KU.”

 

“ _When have I ever listened to you?”_

Dean gnawed on his lower lip, even though Cas couldn’t see him holding back the smile. Cas always had a way of making Dean do just that. “So, you busy later today?” he digressed, steering the attention away from himself long enough to remember why he called.

 

“ _Depends how much longer I’m on hold,”_ he stated matter-of-factly.

 

“You can shoot me down if you don’t want to do it but… I was wondering if you, uh, if you would be interested in, you know, going to the Pride Fest with me? Benny cancelled last minute and I really don’t wanna go alone.” _Slow down, Desperado,_ he mentally kicked himself.

 

There was a pause and Dean thought he hung up until his raspy baritone came back, saying, “ _Dean, you know I’d love to support you, but…”_

 

“Yeah, no, it’s not your thing, I get it,” Dean said, trying not to sound too disappointed.

 

“ _No, it’s not that, I’d be honored to go with you, it’s just… there’s a lot of walking and I…”_

Fucking fuck, Dean was one selfish fuck. Cas had a gimp leg. He could use crutches, but only until his arms turned to Jello. He had to remember to share a few words with Gabriel the next time he saw him because he just _had_ to drag him quading the week before Cas started summer school. “Fuck, Cas, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about it.”

 

“ _It’s alright. I’d forget too if I didn’t stop falling out of bed every morning.”_ Dean suppressed a laugh to no avail. Cas laughed with him. “ _You really don’t have anyone else to go with?”_

“Not really, everyone kinda drops off when they find out you’re thirsty for cock.”

 

“ _Dean! You mean to tell me you’ve wanted me all this time because I have a dick?!”_

“I’m sorry, Cas, you’re just so fucking hot I couldn’t take it anymore, I had to come out.”

 

Cas chuckled into the phone before saying, “ _You know what, fuck it.”_

“What?”

 

“ _Fuck it, I’m going with you.”_

“Cas,” Dean said plaintively, shaking his head, “you really don’t have to, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about saying no.”

 

“ _Stop making everything about you,”_ he jibed, “ _I’m going because I want to.”_

“But your leg—”

 

“ _I’ll figure something out. I’m crippled, not dead.”_

It was Dean’s turn to laugh, “Alright, calm down, gimpy, I’ll swing by the college at three.”

 

“ _No you’re not. I’m calling Uber.”_

“Alright, I get it; you’re an independent woman, sheesh.”

 

“ _Never forget it. See you at three, assbutt.”_

“Dick.”

 

Dean promptly hung up, unable to control the excitement bubbling inside him. It’ll be nice to see Cas again, granted Cas’s hands are full with midterms and Dean’s with motor oil. They’ve always lived in two separate worlds, but they never lost touch. In fact, it was Castiel whom he had told first and foremost that he thought he might be into guys too. Cas never judged him. He only asked that he don’t lose sleep over it because it wasn’t worth it. Then he gave him a long overdue hug.

 

Dean hadn’t cherished a moment like that since he moved out of his old house.

 

But tonight wasn’t about that. Tonight was about embracing his sexuality in garish colors and not giving an all-around fuck. He wouldn’t let anything get his goat today.

 

***

“Come on in, gimpy.”

 

Cas narrowed his head as he rolled into Dean’s studio. “I still have my other leg, you know. Besides, should you really be the one judging when you’ve got your cowardly tail between your legs?”

 

“It’s a _tiger.”_ Cas inched closer until his wheels touched his bare feet. “Okay, alright,” Dean amended, sidling out of the way because he’d like to keephis scrotum intact, thank you very much. Cas may have been his best friend, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t hesitate to kick his ass. “Dude, you know you’re gonna have the beefiest arms once your leg heals.”

 

Cas rotated ninety degrees, stopping just short of the kitchen, sapphire eyes boring holes into his emerald ones as he gasped, “Dean Winchester, as I live and breathe.”

 

“Hey, I can be nice.”

 

“And I’m Gandhi.”

 

“Why not? You’d have a better haircut.”

 

Cas shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. “That’s more like it,” he remarked, swiveling to face him. If he was honest, Cas’s hair was Dean’s favorite feature. It’s a look he’s appreciated since his mom stopped dressing him. He had it long enough in the front to comb back, but chose (he uses that term loosely; Dean just thinks he’s too tired, too lazy or both) to leave it a dark and wild mess, like a fur coat after it’s been through the wash.

 

Dean cleared his throat. “So, you ready to get naked?”

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going full-on Mystique,” he called from the bathroom before pulling out his not-so-lightly used makeup kit (for state Comic Cons, obviously) and showing it to his friend. “You don’t have to, but I’ll need help with my stripes.”

 

“Are you kidding?” Cas said, promptly taking off his sweater. “Paint me like one of your French girls.”

 

Dean gaped at the expanse of skin before him. Scratch the thing he said about building up arm muscle, Cas was tan _and_ ripped _._ Last time he saw him he was a scrawny twenty-something from Linn Valley. He severely misjudged the power of books. “Oh, uh, okay,” he said, feeling his face heat up. “What do you wanna be?”

 

Cas pondered for a moment before saying, “An angel.”

 

Dean shouldn’t be surprised. Cas is double-majoring in Religious Studies and Folklore and Mythology. “Alright, you wanna go for the fluffy-winged doe-eyed look, or…?”

 

“I’m thinking something more tribal,” he replied fixedly. “The more contour, the better.”

 

Cas was lucky his best friend was an ex-art major (someone had to put Sammy through college) or this project would’ve been based on blind faith. Dean’s former expertise didn’t rely in cosmetics—at least not until James Cameron showed up at his door with a job offer, as far as he was concerned—but it was good practice if ever he decided to go back to school.

 

Dean figured he do Cas’s makeup before he finished his own, or he’d be mixing blue with black and orange and that wouldn’t be flattering for either one of them. They ate breakfast on the balcony then returned to Dean’s bathroom, where Cas, despite his long line of protests, was aided into an upright position onto the toilet seat. It was barely a big enough space for one person, but Dean could manage painting with his back pressed against the wall. It actually wasn’t a bad support.

 

He stared back at Cas, realizing they were both topless in a confined space.

 

“I’m not going _full_ Mystique,” Cas stated to break the obvious tension, though he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Dean chuckled, thankful to avert his gaze to get the paint ready so Cas couldn’t see him blush. It didn’t help that the paint matched the pigment of his eyes.

 

“Thank God for small favors,” Dean replied, mustering a small grin, and then he began to paint.

 

Dean started at the base of his earlobe, tracking the bristles in a swift, downward motion until his eyes aligned with the tip his collarbone, where he sectioned off with a curve. The color came out lighter than he expected, but made for a more vibrant pigment—and smell for that matter. Acrylics were strong, so it was best to whistle, like one would when chopping onions. If Dean continued at this rate, Cas would be done in an hour and a half, tops.

 

But alas, Fate wasn’t so kind. Dean accidently coincided two curves and, unthinkingly, brushed his thumb against Cas’s nipple.  He swallowed thickly when it perked up in response.

 

Cas glanced down at the flaw in his design, unfazed. “Everything okay?”

 

“Y-yeah, yeah… might’ve messed up. Nothing I can’t fix.”

 

Which he _did,_ for the record; Dean wasn’t _that_ pathetic. He’s touched his fair share of tits in his life. None of them belonged to a man, but hey, there’s always a first for everything.

 

His stomach was the hardest area to cover, just because he had to sink to his knees. Working underneath cars, Dean’s used to all kinds of physical exertion, but this was a _whole new level_ of physical. Dean figured he’d be between someone’s crotch after he came out, but not _this_ soon—and certainly not his best friend’s. Focus on painting, he told himself, think of Cas as your canvas.

 

Yeah, that didn’t help. Abort, danger zone, abort—

 

“Dean?”

 

“I’ve gotta get more supplies,” Dean blurted, storming out of the room.

 

He didn’t mean to leave Cas there, stranded on the bathroom toilet, but he couldn’t stand being in the same space as him. What’s wrong with him? He knows a guy for twelve years of his life and suddenly his achy breaky heart is drumming a thousand beats per second? Cas is his friend, _best_ friend. He’s shared his lunches with the guy, saved him countless times from the school perps, and even helped him move into his dorm. He didn’t _have_ to, but he wanted to. No, he _needed_ to. He couldn’t refuse those big blue eyes and that big, gummy smile that melted him like a Popsicle left out in the sun—

 

Shit.

 

He rushed back inside empty-handed. Cas would know something was wrong, but Dean didn’t care.

 

“Dean,” he said tentatively, “is everything okay?”

 

“I’m gonna do something,” he replied, hovering over him nervously. “You can stop me. Hell, you don’t have to talk to me ever again, I’ll get it.”

 

Cas was about to protest when Dean surged forward, slotting their lips together. It was one thing kissing another dude, kissing _Cas_ was something else entirely. Sure, Cas had scratchy facial hair and slightly chapped lips, but he was surprisingly soft, and went nimble under his embrace. For a solid minute, they weren’t even moving their mouths more than they were breathing each other’s essence.

 

Dean pulled back before things could get really heated. Cas still grasped the back of his neck like an anchor holding him in place. “Oh.”

 

“ _Oh_?” Dean laughed nervously, but mostly winded. “Just _oh_?”

 

“Very oh?” Cas tried, smiling. Dean just shook his head.

 

“Well we’ll just have to work on that,” he said, nabbing his lips again.

 

In the end, it didn’t matter. Their colors ended up running together, but that’s okay. They went to the Fest that day adorning the colors of the rainbow, and really, isn’t what pride is all about?

 

**-FIN-**

**Author's Note:**

> This is the reference I used for Castiel's body art design ~ http://orig02.deviantart.net/8a08/f/2012/290/c/f/tribal_angel_body_paint_by_ellefx-d5i59qu.jpg


End file.
